


An Experience of Limes

by blythechild



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Male Friendship, Tequila, Trust Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch asks Reese about the correct order when doing a tequila shot.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment. This story contains adult themes and drinking - it should not be read by those under the age of 14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Experience of Limes

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt "do I suck on the lime and then drink the tequila or drink the tequila and then suck on the lime?" posted in the comment_fic community on Livejournal.

"So, do I suck the lime and then drink the tequila, or drink the tequila first and then suck the lime, Mr. Reese?"

Reese arched an eyebrow as Finch blinked at him in curiosity, the full shot glass in one hand and the lime wedge in the other.

"Finch, how is it possible that you don't know how to do a tequila shot?" Reese was still a little floored that Finch had agreed to come out for a drink in the first place, but this serious shot protocol discussion had eclipsed it. And it was also weirdly enticing, but Reese was tamping that down for the moment.

"Your question implies that you doubt my experience with alcohol in general, which, I assure you, would be a mistaken assumption. You can't attend a FIDE after-party with a Russian Grandmaster without learning a thing or two about a bender." Finch raised the shot glass carefully and peered at its contents. "Never having been marooned in Tijuana or in a Sergio Leone film however, I don't know how to drink _this_."

Reese smirked. "It's salt, shot, lime."

He demonstrated and made it appear that the tequila was as harmless as water. Finch nodded once at Reese's air of ease and followed suit. After sucking the lime, he squeezed his eyes shut and appeared to curl into a slightly assaulted version of himself. A sliver of worry wedged into Reese and just as he was going to ask if he was okay, Finch slammed his hand hard against the lacquered bar top.

"Finch?"

"That's quite something."

"It's not for everyone..."

"Hmmm." 

Finch licked his lips quickly and then turned back to Reese without furthering the conversation. Reese's sliver of worry turned into a sliver of something else, something warm and dark and very, very private. He suddenly had an impulse from his operative days; he sensed _a way in_ and it felt as natural as breathing to take advantage of that.

"Another?" Reese pointed to his empty shot glass.

"Please." Finch actually smiled. 

It couldn't be that easy, Reese thought. Harold Finch wouldn’t offer up a soft underbelly with such casualness. Now the question became: what was Finch attempting to bend to _his_ advantage? Reese waved the bartender over and ordered two more shots as he considered his possible moves.

“Your familiarity with spaghetti westerns should have educated you on the questionable decisions that come from drinking tequila.”

“Yes, well, I won’t worry until I feel the urge to smoke cigarillos and challenge bar patrons to pistol duels in the street.” Finch knocked back the shot and didn’t cringe this time.

“A word of advice if it comes to a duel – aim higher than the knee.”

“Duly noted.” Finch said it as if he were filing away the tip for later, and that was enough to force a soft chuckle from Reese. But what Finch said next erased the smile from Reese’s face.

“I have plenty of experience with questionable decisions as well.”

Finch stared at a point just over Reese’s shoulder but was actually miles away. Reese always viewed regret in physical terms – lives lost, conflicts created, wounds endured – but watching Finch slump oddly on his barstool staring into nothing, he realized that regret really lived in the mind. Finch’s mind held so much, had so many secret rooms, Reese found himself wondering how much regret Finch dragged around with him unable to let it fade or scar over.

“You’re in good company there.” Reese said eventually.

Finch smiled again, but you had to know him to recognize it. To any passerby, it would have just been a softening of the lines around his mouth. “I know I am, John.”

The warm darkness resurrected itself in Reese’s gut and he told the tequila buzz to keep its head. Finch wasn’t a mark and represented the closest that Reese would probably ever come to absolute trust with a partner again. Trust was tricky and they’d fought hard to get to this point. There was no need to squander it in pursuit of something that they were both too seasoned and wary to give into.

Finch called the bartender over again and ordered another round. Reese raised his brows at him when he looked back. “Better pace yourself.”

“That’s what the Russian Grandmaster said. He should have taken his own advice.”

“What happened to him?” Reese imagined Finch playing drunken strip chess and only losing his pocket square in the contest.

Finch shook his head, exhaling in amusement. He busied his hands by lining up the salt shaker, shot glass, and lime wedge, all evenly spaced. “I’d have to be considerably compromised to tell that story.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Finch looked up. He blinked once, perhaps buying space to think or perhaps taking Reese in for the first time that evening. Then he slowly leaned forward in that stiff, deliberate way he had about him. “If anyone has a chance, it’s you, Mr. Reese.”

Reese sat up a little straighter as the tequila thread itself through his better judgment. Finch just continued staring, and finally Reese had to look at something else. The bartender seemed like safe territory even though she was quite lovely. He raised his hand and she came back to them. He slid some bills across the bar top.

“Just leave the bottle.”

The bartender looked at Reese and then at Finch. She produced a bowl of lime wedges from under the bar top and placed it next to the tequila bottle in front of them with a knowing smile. It wasn’t that kind of place, and they didn’t seem like that kind of customer, but the experience of tequila could alter the rules of any game. Anyone over the age of twenty-one knew that.

“Good luck.” She smiled at Reese and then wandered back down the length of the bar to see to her other customers. It wasn’t until he poured Finch another shot that he realized she assumed that he’d lose.


End file.
